CHAPTER 170
SKYLAR'S POV
One year later, I stood at the kitchen window of our house in the Swiss countryside, watching Harry teach eighteen-month-old Addison how to safely handle the wooden practice knife he'd carved for her. The sight should have been alarming - a toddler with any kind of weapon - but instead it filled me with a complicated mixture of pride and concern.
"She's too young for that," Jax said, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. "She can barely walk steadily."
"Tell that to Harry. He says it's never too early to learn proper safety protocols."
"And what do you think?"
I watched our daughter's intense concentration as she gripped the wooden blade exactly the way Harry was showing her, her tiny face serious with the effort of following his instructions.
"I think she's going to grow up in a world where knowing how to protect herself might save her life someday," I said. "But I also think she should get to be a normal child for as long as possible."
It was the central tension of our new life - how to raise a Mitchell child without passing on the family legacy of violence and trauma. Addison was beautiful, intelligent, and showed early signs of the tactical thinking that had defined my own childhood. But unlike me, she was growing up surrounded by love and protection.
"Any word from the UN about the Jakarta operation?" Jax asked, changing the subject to safer ground.
"Three more facilities shut down, forty-seven victims rescued. The intelligence from Henry's files is still producing results a year later."
Our foundation had become exactly what we'd envisioned - a legitimate organization that coordinated with international law enforcement to dismantle trafficking networks. But instead of field operations, I spent my days analyzing intelligence, coordinating resources, and providing strategic guidance from our secure home base.
It was satisfying work, but sometimes I missed the immediate gratification of direct action.
"Lucas wants to discuss the expansion proposal," Jax continued. "Setting up regional offices in Asia and South America."
"What do you think?"
"I think we've got more requests for assistance than we can handle from our current location. But I also think expanding means more time away from home, more security risks, more complications."
Through the window, I could see Lucas emerging from his workshop, covered in sawdust and carrying what looked like a custom-built crib. He'd taken up woodworking as a way to channel his technical skills into something creative rather than destructive.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked, noting the crib and the careful way Jax was avoiding direct eye contact.
"Maybe."
"Jax Morrison, are you keeping secrets from me?"
"Not secrets exactly. More like... surprises that need proper timing."
Before I could press him further, Addison came running into the kitchen, her wooden knife abandoned in favor of more pressing concerns.
"Mama! Mama!" she called, her vocabulary still limited but her meaning clear as she reached up to be lifted.
I scooped her up, marveling at how much she'd grown in just eighteen months. She was tall for her age, with dark hair that curled at the ends and eyes that seemed to take in everything around her with analytical precision.
"What have you been doing with Uncle Harry?" I asked, using the titles we'd settled on to explain our unusual family structure to outsiders.
"Knife!" she announced proudly, then proceeded to demonstrate the grip technique Harry had been teaching her using an imaginary blade.
"Very good. But knives are only for practice with Uncle Harry, remember? Not for playing by yourself."
"I know, Mama."
The ease with which she accepted our rules about weapons and safety sometimes worried me. Most children her age would have been fascinated by the forbidden nature of dangerous objects. Addison simply filed the information away and followed instructions with the kind of discipline that suggested she understood consequences in ways that weren't typical for toddlers.
"There's something else we need to discuss," Lucas said, entering the kitchen with Harry close behind. "About the future."
"What kind of future?"
"The kind where our foundation becomes something bigger than what we originally planned," Harry said, settling into his chair at the kitchen table. "We've been offered a position with a new international task force. Real authority, unlimited resources, the chance to make changes on a global scale."
"Offered by whom?"
"A coalition of governments that want to create a permanent anti-trafficking organization. Think Interpol, but specifically focused on human trafficking with broader jurisdiction and better funding."
I felt the familiar pull of mission-focused thinking, the desire to take on bigger challenges and save more lives. But I also felt the weight of Addison in my arms, the responsibility of raising a child who needed stability more than she needed parents who were constantly traveling to dangerous places.
"What would that mean for us? For our family?"
"It would mean relocating to Geneva, accepting roles that come with significant public exposure, and probably spending more time in the field than we do now," Lucas said honestly.
"It would also mean the chance to prevent trafficking operations before they get established, instead of just reacting to existing networks," Harry added.
"And the security implications?"
"Significant. People like Henry don't just disappear because we eliminated one network. There are others who see us as threats to their operations."
Addison had fallen asleep in my arms, her small body warm and trusting against my chest. Looking at her peaceful face, I realized that this decision would shape not just our future, but hers as well.
"How long do we have to decide?" I asked.
"Two weeks. They need an answer before the next UN General Assembly."
"And if we say no?"
"Then we continue what we're doing. Smaller scale, lower profile, but probably safer for Addison."
I carried our sleeping daughter to her room, tucking her into the crib Lucas had built with his own hands. As I watched her sleep, I thought about the choice we were facing.
On one hand, the new position offered everything we'd dreamed of - the authority and resources to make a real difference in the fight against trafficking. On the other hand, it would expose our family to exactly the kind of attention and danger we'd been trying to avoid.
"What does your gut tell you?" Jax asked quietly, having followed me to Addison's room.
"My gut tells me that if we don't take this opportunity, someone else will. And they might not care as much about the victims as we do."
"And what does your heart tell you?"
I looked down at our daughter, thinking about the world she would inherit and the choices that would shape her future.
"My heart tells me that the best way to protect her is to make sure she grows up in a world where trafficking networks can't operate with impunity."
But as I said the words, I couldn't shake the feeling that accepting this position would put us back on the kind of dangerous path we'd been trying to leave behind.
And that this time, we might not all survive the journey.
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